


Stalker

by Buttersnips



Category: Warframe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttersnips/pseuds/Buttersnips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tenno of great power finds his continuous joy of the death of enemies, embodying gruesome and ruthless tactics to finally become a feared and outcast ninja.</p>
<p>The following story is a complete, random, fandom depiction on how the stalker may have had his roots using a similar beginning to those of other Tenno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Analogous

Who am i? Warm in this glass tomb? Enraptured by ice and freeze, my eyesight only a few feet. Stress did not proceed, yet was the fact i was not freed. Moments passed and a woman speaks, destroying my conscience, she began to teach though i already knew. The glass fell and i to it, i felt unprotected without a skin yet i felt minor pain. A 20 foot drop was more than enough to shake me. Gunfire ricochéd off the gold structures and platinum-like sheens of this large orb-shaped room, half in ice, half in thaw, attached to a large mined to the cool breeze of outside. The woman continued to speak, the "Lotus", i didnt need her to guide me, it wasnt her place to say what was needed to be done. 

"Your words are meaningless, who needs to die". It was neither statement nor question as thirty extremely armoured top-heavy green, white and red combatants entered through the mined hole. Warmth began to suffuse through his being, power being regained from the cold. 

My name was Excalibur, i was given the Orokin teleportation skill to destroy others in combat as well as escaping an impossible fight. Thirty Men where nothing.

I turned my back to them, let my being rematerialize, white folded over grey armour, leading to a bright blue flash. My familiar horn shown as a symbol of who i am. I am whom i was, kunai millimetres from the opponents certain death, he wanted to see the shock on their faces as they die, reimburse the futility of thirty men on a single tenno. 

"There he is! Fire!"

Wrong move

My Scythe and Paris fell materialized into my hands, familiar as ever.

A gunshot fired and i was gone, hanging on the icy roof with my scythe dug into the ice. Each of the kunai I infused with teleportation, twenty of them. Each of the kunai were placed within their cerbellums, their small reiterated brains full of knives filled with the despair of a million other enemies. They were sharp, almost too sharp, they had always been. Twenty enemies drop and their alive comrades realert to the area around them, but why would they look up? My scythe fell out with a small pull and i plummeted to the cold ground again, letting my scythe fall to the ice and create javelins and project them in all directions. The Lotus' voice was somewhere. A metallic tang punctured the final enemies through their abdomens, still alive, but in gruesome pain. A quick seven bolts dropped to the craniums of the idiotic enemies, unprotected in every meaning of the term with the bolts warping through their armour to a fatal wound. One lived, and the two others seeped in and out of consciousness. He went to the struggling red enemy with his only protection ripped from his hands as he lay helpless flung against the wall.

I used the blade of my scythe to peel off his faceplate and reveal a disgusting face underneath, embedded with his hatred and a lack of knowledge in the grief around him. He was desensitized. His weapon layed on the ground feet away, a simple expolsive weapon that seeked targets, all he needed to do was pull the trigger and hope. I pulled the blade across his cheek.

"Who sent you?"

He spoke not a word and continued to struggle as i pulled the scythe further down his cheek to his neck, applying more pressure as every ice cold moment passed. Fear was spoken through his face with the brutality of a cauterized wound shaped by the heated edge of the scythe.

"I wont let you die, for you have done null".

His eyes widened as the blade became horizontal with his neck.

"Vor! It is Vor, please dont kill-"

He did something and died for it, a viable cause. Heated flesh was met by a rush of cool air, and blood created a metallic feature to the oxygen unbreathed. I was overjoyed, a significant individual to destroy, rip society from a culture, dismember a cause through leaders. An assassination without a fault.


	2. Vor

Coming soon


End file.
